Humanity's Death [Books 1-3]

by Black, D. S.

  Pinky stopped. For a moment all he could hear was his own breathing. It came out in pathetic rasps. He really did need to cut back on those cigarettes.

  Then he heard the gunshots. Pops and bangs in the distance. A scream here and there. The farm, dear Jesus. The farm was under attack.

  A Feast of Souls

  It heard their souls screaming, leaving their agonized bodies. It smelled the pain and suffering. Lurking high above, listening, feeling, ready to feast on hearty souls. Suck them down, keep them down, bring their burning desires, dreams, and most especially, the nightmares. The memories of hate and jealousy, rage and chaos, fear, such are its needs. Souls are not a want; they are a need. Without them, it would cease to exist.

  Now moving, hovering above the farm, it begins its terrible dinner.

  Flashbacks and The Battle for Pinky’s Farm

  1

  The farm screamed with activity, both loud and silent. The moans of the dead, the crash of thunder, the banging of nails, and the silent fear that echoed through all the people remaining on the farm. The zombies poured in like a stream of filthy stench. Their burning white eyes glowed in the pouring rain. It was the blackest night the farm had ever seen. The lightning would occasionally flash, followed by the crackling of hellish thunder that shook the earth. Even the zombies stumbled a little each time heaven’s hammer struck against the dark flint of night. Inside the house, boards were quickly nailed, gun posts upstairs were manned, rifles readied, and aimed. The barn house was filled with fear faced cowboys who had rarely seen battle, hence the reason they didn’t join the war party that went to Columbia; but they were willing, what choice did they have? They would fight, even if it only meant delaying their death by a little longer.

  2

  Jack woke up again. This time to the sound of the low beeping alarm. He heard the shuffling of hurried feet, the nailing of boards, the familiar click and clank of guns being loaded and readied. His heart picked up a beat. Outside, he heard gun shots. He pulled himself out of bed and walked to the window. The rain came down in a powerful torrent. A flash of lightning, followed by a clap of earth shaking thunder caused Jack to take a step back, almost stumbling and falling, but in the flash of hot white light he saw the problem clearly. A stream of zombies entered the farm through a smashed in section of fence line. A tree had fallen and crushed it.

  His door opened. “Jack! Good, you’re awake. Listen! We have a perimeter breach,” Doctor Brown said as he stood with wild eyes. His hair stood up in crazy points, making him look a bit like a devil. “Can you shoot, Jack?” Doctor Brown held out a rifle. “If you can—”

  “I can, and I will. The open door can wait a few moments.”

  Doctor Brown continued to hold the rifle out. Jack walked over and took it. The doctor turned and walked away.

  Jack stared at the rifle with fascination. “My final stand. My final contribution to this shit world. So be it.” The AR-15 had a mounted night scope and a fully loaded clip. Jack walked over to the window, unlatched it, but it wouldn’t come up. He added some more pressure and still couldn’t make the window budge. He sat the rifle down and put both sets of fingers under the lip of the window and grunted as he pushed up. The sound of old paint crumbling finally came and the window slid up. The cold rain rushed in immediately with a gust of wind. It was a serious downpour.

  Jack picked up the rifle and put the stock against his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed that his dizziness was gone. In the excitement of the moment, he didn’t bother caring that his infection had clearly been beaten. He looked through the scope and saw the world below in night scope green.

  It was bad, really bad. Hundreds… No! Thousands of zombies were pushing through the broken fence line. He could exhaust his entire clip, not missing one head, and still not put a dent in the stream of death. He directed his green vision over the landscape, over to the large barn. Men had taken positions on top of the barn roof, daring the lightning to strike them. He saw a few more in the windows in the barn loft.

  He turned the rifle back to the zombies, took aim, and fired. He wouldn’t be alive much longer anyway. One final good deed to send him off. He fired again and again and again.

  He didn’t notice the tears streaming down his face.

  3

  Downstairs Carla finished nailing the windows with wood planks. They were ready. They had this planned. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it would have to do.

  Her mind was a flurry of fear and excitement. God! How she wished Pinky was here. Could they really hold out all by themselves? Murphy’s Law had struck, and it might mean the death of every man, woman, and child left on the farm.

  With the windows boarded up, she hurried up the stairs and joined Doctor Brown in a large bedroom. The room had multiple windows and Brown stood at one, firing his rifle. A bottle of whiskey sat beside him. Carla walked over picked up the bottle and drank. She felt the hot soothing power of the liquor go down. She sat the bottle down and looked out the window via her night scope, her heart dropped. Death was everywhere, how could they possibly hold out?

  A deep memory struck her. One she’d tried her best to bury in the deepest regions of her mind, but with death coming in hungry droves; her mind found reason to bring the image of her once beloved Mike Trinca. Mike had saved her life. Saved her and allowed her to live on another year. Allowed her to find Pinky and his farm. Allowed her to fall in love with Pinky, but he’d paid with his life.

  That day was awful. The very first day of the Fever. When all hell had broken loose…

  4

  She’d been drinking a soda, watching a movie with Mike. They were on their little love seat in their little apartment. They first met in high school, fell in love, and married young, but that was okay. They were going to be in love forever, till death do them part. Mike held her against him. Her head rested on his broad and manly chest. Mike was a massive young man, but a softy at heart. He loved everyone and treated people with respect, even if they didn’t deserve it.

  As they laid on the love seat, watching a rerun of Breaking Bad. The day was blistering hot. Just outside their apartment, kids played in a small park that was overlooked by a security guard. Everything seemed just fine. Just another average American day in the South.

  The grass outside of the ritzy apartment complex (starting at fifteen hundred dollars for a studio) was receiving its routine watering from an automatic sprinkling system. Swish, swish, swish.

  Carla and Mike didn’t notice the dark shadow pass by their first-floor window, nor did the security guard notice the strange man who walked straight through the sprinklers, soaking himself quite nicely. The kids kept playing on the swing sets. Their blonde, brunet, and ginger heads bopping up and down.

  The creepy man stepped onto the playground and started moving awkwardly towards the children. That’s when the guard noticed him. The guard was Dale Roberts, retired cop, grandfather of four wonderful girls and two boys. His belly was big from one too many beers, baked potatoes, and plenty of fried chicken. He worked for Palmetto Security which had contracts with a number of apartment complexes in the coastal region. Dale wore a gray polo shirt and blue BDU pants. A .38 snub nosed revolver hung in a holster on his hip.

  He considered himself a great shot, though he hadn’t shot anything in some time. Not even targets, and he certainly didn’t expect to ever have to do any shooting on a gig like this. Sure, he’d heard about all the crazy mass shooters that occasionally liked to target kids, but that mostly happened at schools, malls, and movie theaters. Certainly he wouldn’t ever need to use his sidearm around here, but before that day was out, Dale would be out of bullets and scared out of his wits.

  But in that moment, he just stared at the stranger walking towards the kids. Something wasn’t right about this man. Not at all. He looked like he was drunk. This guy must have woken up and made breakfast in the form of double shots of whiskey.

  The fella’s face was pale. The man looked like a vampire, and those ey
es… Dale couldn’t stop staring at those eyes. They burned a hot white… how could that be?

  “You there! Stop!” Dale drew his sidearm and made his approach. The man said nothing. Didn’t even seem to notice Dale, he was jerking his way to the kids. The guy was about ten feet away and picking up his pace. Dale saw hunger in the man’s face. Burning white eyes and an insatiable hunger.

  The man was now five feet away from the children. The kids stopped swinging, and just stared. Had Dale not acted right then and there, those young girls may have been eaten then, instead of being picked up three months later by the newly formed Militia; being eaten may have been a better ending for them.

  “Stop motherfucker! Not another step!” The man was now three feet from the girls and Dale had seen enough. He aimed and found his shooting skills were almost as good as he remembered. He aimed for the man’s head but hit the chest. Well, that would be good enough, thought Dale. He had to stop him, he had no choice. The man looked like he was going to kill those kids. What else could he do?

  The man fell over, then to Dale’s amazed eyes, the bastard got up. Dale’s jaw dropped, and for a moment he just stared. The girls, thankfully had ran like the devil was on their tail the moment the gunshot reported.

  But the man was now back on his feet. The gunshot wound was a bloody, glaring eye in the middle of his chest. The man noticed Dale and started his way. Dale kept on staring, not quite believing his eyes. Then survival kicked in and he realized the man meant to have a go at him. He didn’t bother warning him. If the first shot in the chest wasn’t a good enough warning, then what in Christ hell would be? He shot the man again, hitting him in the right shoulder. The man stumbled backwards but didn’t fall, he growled and kept coming. Dale’s revolver reported again. This time the shot struck the man in the belly.

  He kept coming. Sweat poured down Dale’s face. Dale wasn’t a devoutly religious man, but in that moment, he was sure as hell that a demon had taken this man’s body. When the man was five feet away, Dale forced his shaking hands to calm and put the next round through the guy’s forehead. The bullet ridden body fell down onto the green grass, blood splattering red against the beautifully manicured lawn.

  Sirens were approaching, and Dale was glad of it. He might need some medical assistance himself because he felt like he might have a damn heart attack, but the sirens drove by and disappeared somewhere in the distance ahead. That’s when Dale started to faint. Had it not been for Mike’s strong arms and fast reflexes, Dale would have crashed onto the ground.

  “Easy does it, big fella. What the hell happened?” Mike asked. Carla was beside him, staring wide eyed at the dead man. She’d never seen a dead body before.

  “I…I…just…don’t…” Dale was in shock, unable to make sense of what was going on around him. He wouldn’t have a heart attack, but it came damn close. Once again, Mike’s fast thinking saved the man. “Go grab the aspirin, Carla. Fast!” Mike pulled Dale over to the shade and rested him against a tree. “And call 911!” Mike shouted over his shoulder.

  When Carla came back she carried a bottle of aspirin and her cell phone. Her face was distorted with a confused glare. She looked at Mike, tears of fear surfacing at the corners of her eyes. “Mike! Its busy! 911 is busy! And the TV is saying—”

  An explosion erupted somewhere in the distance. They would later discover it was a crashed oil tanker. Black smoke billowed high in the air, and from another direction gun shots rang out. Loud, fast, and sporadic gunfire suddenly swallowed the entire town. One moment the world was normal, the next all hell broke loose, and war ascended. At first, Carla thought it was terrorism, or maybe the Russians.

  She saw what looked like a gang of drunkards moving their way.

  Mike fed Dale the Aspirin and picked up his revolver. Mike wasn’t a complete stranger to firearms, but he was hardly a great shot. The gun felt heavy and strange in his hand.

  “On the TV, Mike the news said some kind of virus is loose.”

  “Let’s get him in the car. We’ve got to get out of here.” Mike was watching the zombies moving their way, they were closing in and fast. He pulled Dale up and hoisted the man over his shoulders. “Hold on old timer. Mike Trinca is leading the charge!”

  As Mike ran to Carla’s SUV, she dashed back into the apartment and grabbed her keys. Before she ran out, she noticed the images on the TV screen. Not just in Myrtle Beach, but all over the planet people were fighting for their lives. People were dying. People were killing and raping at will. All law and order ceased to exist; all it took was one major event, something that jarred people out of the claws of civilization and sent them hurdling into chaotic and violent anarchy.

  She ran out to her SUV. Mike was holding Dale up against the vehicle. She hit the unlock button. Mike hurried Dale into the large black leather backseat, then closed the door. He rounded the SUV and took a fast look at the approaching horde. They had been slowed. Well, that wasn’t quite right. They had found a little kid and were ripping him apart. The blonde boy screamed, and with horror-stricken eyes, stared over at Mike and made eye contact.

  “Mike! Come on!” Carla screamed from the driver’s seat. She had the engine on and the SUV in gear. Mike broke from his paralysis and stepped into the passenger’s seat.

  The chaos had taken the streets like a flood of violence. Blood covered street signs, bushes, black top, and sidewalks. People were dying, getting up, their eyes glowing a hot bright white.

  Carla and Mike watched this with growing dismay. Their hearts beat rapidly, hammering against their chests. Dale was beginning to regain his senses; it was amazing at what a few aspirin can do for a man on the verge of a heart attack.

  “It’s like a movie,” Dale said from the back.

  Mike jumped. He had forgotten about Dale. “Christ! I’m on edge!” Mike said.

  “Turn on the radio,” Dale said.

  He did. The news was confused and just as chaotic as the action taking place on the streets.

  A radio broadcaster screamed: “I’ve seen it with my own eyes! The dead… they just get up and… dear god… their eyes!... I tell you, their eyes burn like white fury!”

  Carla drove, trying her best not to hit anyone, or another car; but it wasn’t easy. People ran to and fro like ants scurrying in every direction, and the walking dead were everywhere. My god, she thought its spreading so fast. How can this happen? Is it even real? She wanted to wake from this nightmare. She desperately wanted all this to be a bad dream. Surely, she would wake up next to Mike, her heart pumping, her face and body covered in sweat, only to realize it was just a bad dream; just a wild hallucination of the mind.

  “Watch out!”

  She didn’t swerve in time. She saw the frightened face of the elderly couple, still living, breathing, and loving each other even as she ran them over. Carla screamed, but didn’t stop. The old folks were not just on a joy walk across the street, they were running from a gang of dead men with burning hot white eyes and hungry dead hearts.

  She couldn’t have articulated it into words, but her soul, her deepest consciousness knew that those dead men owned the world now. If the virus, or the Fever as she heard it called just before she ran the old people over could spread so damn fast, then it was over. If it was already in other states, already in other countries, other continents, then this was it baby doll; this was the end of the road for humanity. She wasn’t a poet; she was just a good southern woman who loved her man, wanted to do right by God and her community; but the dead were rising. Was this what Christ meant when he said the dead would rise again? Holy Christmas in Easter!

  Where could she go? She looked over at Mike. His eyes were wide and thinking. He was a strong man, but this might be too much for him. He was such a good person. He cared so much about other humans. To see this level of bloodshed and painful death might just break his mind.

  She spoke a prayer, hoping Jesus was listening: Oh, Jesus! thank you for all the days you’ve given me. Give me a sign, give me an an
swer. I don’t understand what’s happening. I’m scared! So scared. Please guide me, tell me where to go. I don’t know what to do.

  Dale tried to scream for her to stop. Mike just sat and let it happen, his mind temporarily frozen with the sights and sounds of death.

  The crash happened in a white-hot flash of intensity that nearly killed them all. Dale died; he was flung from the back seat and his neck broke as he bashed against the front windshield. Carla to her horror, laughed and thought: should have worn your seat belt, old man.

  She had on her seatbelt and so did Mike, but the SUV, a gift from her parents, was ruined. The front end was smashed beyond repair, crunched like wrinkled metallic skin.

  The airbags deployed, and they were now in a cloud of white powder. The world was spinning. Too much was happening for her mind to understand. This was madness, chaos in motion. A loud ringing sounded in her ears. She heard screams, but they sounded far away.

  She opened her eyes, something was grabbing her. Stiff cold hands pulled at her bosom, she opened her eyes just in time; a moment more and she would have been bitten. She pushed her palm against the zombie’s forehead. The teeth clicked and clicked, trying to reach her soft warm flesh.

  Mike went into action. The .38 revolver he took from Dale (which he had reloaded during his state of shock, barely noticing what he was doing or even able to remember when Dale had given him the extra bullets) was now pressed against the head of the zombie. He pulled the trigger.

  The mess was considerable. Carla was covered in brain, blood, and skull fragments. Some of it got in her mouth and she prayed that it wouldn’t infect her. She would rather die than turn into one of these things

  They both got out of the SUV and stood side by side, staring at the chaos. Her face still covered in blood, she looked up at Mike. “What are we gonna do?”